


balm after violence

by quensty



Series: godless [2]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Bandits & Outlaws, Established Relationship, M/M, Wild West
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:22:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24485818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quensty/pseuds/quensty
Summary: “Watch it,” Andrew says, hunching forward. The table is damp and sticky under Neil’s hands, and it wobbles left every time he moves. “You’re wit stopped being cute months ago.”“Funny. You keep saying that, though I believe you less and less every time.”“Word to the wise,” he advises, “it’s better to keep your mouth shut and look stupid than open it and prove it.”Neil shrugs. “Do you think our pumpkins died?”
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Series: godless [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1768783
Comments: 12
Kudos: 120
Collections: AFTG Exchange Spring 2020





	balm after violence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ennui_ephemera](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ennui_ephemera/gifts).



> this was written for @[knox-knocks](https://knox-knocks.tumblr.com/) for the @[aftgexchange](https://aftgexchange.tumblr.com/)! i'm gonna be real w u chief: you suggested a flower shop au and i can say w complete certainty that this isn't that. however! the idea of flowers + domesticity stuck w me, so there's a splash (as a treat) of that in this, a cowboy outlaw au. it's actually a continuation of [this fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21125315), but no knowledge of it is necessary to understand this one! i hope you like it!!
> 
> u can rb this fic on tumblr [here](https://quensty.tumblr.com/post/619745894005407744/fic-balm-after-violence-all-for-the-game-neil#notes)! 

Andrew kicks his feet up on the table and hands Neil a beer he isn’t going to drink.

It doesn’t matter if he’s going to drink it. They’re in a saloon—their fourth one in their fourth town this week—and since their faces are plastered across every wanted poster on this side of the country, it’s all about keeping up appearances. Andrew swallows down the neck while Neil carefully spills half of his into a nearby potted plant. 

“You sure you want to be wasting our money like that, Josten?”

Dan pulls out a chair at their table with one hand and plops down. She has two shot glasses in her other hand. The liquid inside is dark and looks like it strips your throat as it goes down. 

Neil takes a glance around the room. It’s a seedy joint with floors caked in boot marks and bloodstains. A looming cloud of tobacco smoke curls overhead, the air hot and stifling. Just being inside makes the inside of Neil’s mouth taste as dry as a handful of sand.

It’s crowded tonight, filled to the brim with tipsy men who are feeling lucky and too generous with their coin. There’s a group of them clamoring in the opposite corner with drinks in their hands as they bet on a game of billiards. None of them look like they’ll be slowing down any time soon, slapping each other on the backs as they collect their winnings. Neil knows the type.

“I can get it back,” he says.

She grins a little like she thinks that’s funny, though Neil isn’t joking. “Have you caught sight of Moreau yet?”

“We just got here.”

Dan knocks back one of the shots. “Yeah,” she says, glass pressed against her teeth, “and if he is here, I ain’t planning on sticking around.”

“You don’t trust him.” He says it slowly, a touch confused. They’ve been following Jean’s trail for days, waiting for him to show up at whatever shabby shed passes for a bar in the town they camp in all because he claimed he could help them. Dan might’ve agreed to rendezvous, but she still made sure they all tied their horses far from the stables, loaded their guns, and checked the perimeter before heading inside. Kevin says he’s their best shot if he’s offering information, but Neil thinks just because trouble comes knocking doesn’t mean they should give it a place to sit down.

“Renee trusts him,” she says, “and I’m not looking it in the mouth.”

Across from them, Andrew huffs quietly, taking another swing of beer. Dan casts him a narrow glance and says, “I need you two to watch for trouble. You’re closest to the doors, and I want to make sure we have a way out if this all goes pear-shaped.”

Neil nods. Dan searches their faces and is apparently satisfied with whatever she sees because she pushes away from the table and ducks back into the crowd without another word.

Neil turns to Andrew, eyeing the empty bottle knocked over at his elbow. “You sure you’ll be able to keep up?”

“Watch it,” Andrew says, hunching forward. The table is damp and sticky under Neil’s hands, and it wobbles left every time he moves. “You’re wit stopped being cute months ago.”

“Funny. You keep saying that, though I believe you less and less every time.”

“Word to the wise,” he advises, “it’s better to keep your mouth shut and look stupid than open it and prove it.”

Neil shrugs. “Do you think our pumpkins died?”

Last fall, Neil found a patch of them growing at the edges of the backroad leading out of their house. He trudged down into the ditch and uncovered a couple under brown, wilting leaves. He didn’t think anything of it then, on his way to the stables to tend to the horses, but a few weeks later, he thought to himself that if pumpkins managed to grow there by complete accident, then growing them anywhere else on purpose couldn’t be that difficult.

He brought the best ones back home, dug up a strip of earth behind their shed, dumped the seeds, and let nature handle it from there.

The plan wasn’t to keep going, but soon enough he was growing tomatoes, cucumbers, lettuce, beans. Andrew, once he found out, went beyond their line of mulberry bushes and dragged a hoe through the dirt to plant corn seeds. Now they drag five-gallon pails of water to a garden ten times bigger than what Neil wanted, which Andrew hasn’t hesitated to call him idiotic for. 

They left days ago. He asked Wymack to tend to it while they were gone, but for some reason, the thought nags at him like a hangnail. Call him sentimental. 

“I don’t care,” Andrew says.

“Is that why you picked up beets yesterday?”

Andrew stares at him.

“Right.”

Andrew’s hand hovers over his sleeve. Underneath it he has a pair of knives taped securely to his forearm, and they both know it. Neil’s mouth twitches into an almost-smile.

“You're bordering 110%,” Andrew informs him.

Neil grins. "You're bordering amnesia. I was already at 110% last week." 

Andrew considers him a moment.

“The pumpkins will be fine,” he says finally, scooting closer. His chair screeches against the crickety floor, and his shoulder bumps into Neil’s as he settles into his space. Neil notices how secluded they are in their corner, shaded by the dim lights.

He murmurs a question, then grips Neil by the chin and kisses him. He smells like freshly cut grass. Neil licks the salty taste of cheap beer off the back of his teeth, his thumbs fiddling with the stiff leather of Andrew’s vest.

Andrew pulls away. “He’s here.”

“What?”

Andrew doesn’t like repeating himself, so Neil twists in his seat and peers over the crowd until he sees him. He’s done a good job of disguising himself, but even with the hat pulled low over his eyes, Neil would recognize him anywhere. Jean Moreau, the Moriyama’s attack dog let off his leash.

Andrew knocks back the shot Dan left behind, exposing the long line of his neck. “Let’s go.”

“You know, I’m getting tired of being interrupted,” Neil says. Andrew watches him impassively until he dutifully sighs, gets to his feet, and follows Andrew through the crowd.

**Author's Note:**

> she's sarcastic! she likes oil paintings! she won't shut the fuck up! she's me! and u can find me @[quensty](https://quensty.tumblr.com/) on tunglr.hell


End file.
